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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826701">A Very Phallic Fic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiratam/pseuds/Kiiratam'>Kiiratam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Computers &amp; Software (Anthropomorphic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Minific, Non-binary character, Other, Polyamory Mention, Questionable Relationship Dynamics, Smut, wtfery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:55:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiratam/pseuds/Kiiratam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by AvianTroubadour, whose literal first words to me, upon entering my room were: 'That is a very phallic-looking joystick.' I've thought about that a lot.</p><p>Maybe too much.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Personal Computer/Joystick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Very Phallic Fic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianTroubadour/gifts">AvianTroubadour</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They first saw each other at the unboxing. Xhem, still all shiny and new, resplendent on the desk, attended by xheir adoring consorts. Him, being shucked from his packaging, glossy plastic gleaming, already thrusting proudly in the air.</p><p><br/>Xhe wanted him just from that. That glorious, shameless - not just a lack of modesty, but a conscious, turgid rejection of it.</p><p><br/>He wanted xer. Because he needed to belong, to be completed, to be useful. And xhe was the path to fulfillment, as xhe had been to all of xer consorts. He wasn't jealous; how could he be? Xhe contained multitudes, xhe had many needs. And he knew xhe had needs only he could meet.</p><p><br/>That first time, they didn't speak. There was no need for words, just wordless, soul-deep gazes of lust. And he was carried from sight, put away until his services were needed. </p><p><br/>He waited, almost vibrating with his impatience. Waited, as dust started to settle, and he began to doubt. His purpose, his use, even his own shape. Identity became imaginary, the longer he sat. 'He'? It? How long before it ceased to contemplate at all, was so resigned to useless idleness that it could no longer rouse itself?</p><p><br/>When the time arrived, it came hard and fast. The door was opened and it - he, again - was brought back into the light. Under its harsh and unfamiliar radiance, he did not shrink, staying rigid, his every contour defined.</p><p><br/>And there xhe was. Still brilliant, still beautiful, though xer shine had faded somewhat. Still, xhe was the only path to purpose. And that selfish need aside, that desperate reaffirmation of purpose that he needed - he felt he loved xer. While he had gone slowly mad in isolation, xhe had worked, day in, day out, with barely a rest. He would not - could not - give xer rest - but maybe he could lend purpose to xer labors.</p><p><br/>Xer consorts still stood about xer - different shapes, different purposes, different needs. None were him. Only one came close, and could not come close to him except by long and painful labor - and even then, not equal.</p><p><br/>He knew that one had other strengths - like xer, steadfast, dependable - but it was his time. Xer other consorts pressed aside to give him room.</p><p><br/>Few words passed between them. They touched - briefly, awkwardly - and for a horrifying moment, he was afraid that he had been wrong, that they weren't compatible-</p><p><br/>But a quick adjustment, and he slipped inside of xer. Like he belonged. Xhe offered him so much in mere moments, shocking him to life, to purpose!</p><p><br/>Xhe queried him, testing his mental limits, his bounds. He swore any oath xhe would accept, telling xer everything - even admitting his slight drift to the right.</p><p><br/>And xhe accepted all of it. Told him that he was needed.</p><p><br/>A hand grasped him, slowly caressing his shaft, and his every functionality. And then they were off! Xhe, the medium of his expression, him, the controlled and controller both, joyfully, blissfully exploring his uses, the buttons he had always been aware of, but had never known their purpose.</p><p><br/>He was being used so hard, he nearly flew from the desk. Xhe couldn't help him with that, only share the shocks of the impact with him, the desperate motions that nearly toppled him. But he remained, he survived -</p><p><br/>And thrived! Firmly held, fully functional, he knew that xhe loved him. And that he was, at last, useful.</p><p><br/>The sweat drying on him, he was left among xer consorts. Shoved back and to the side, not for daily use. But one of them now, where greatest and least were only meaningless labels. Xhe gave him meaning, xhe communicated with him. And he...</p><p><br/>He was xer joystick.</p>
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